Chapter Three Zig
The shop Si lived over was up the far end of the high street, next to some kind of clothing boutique—vintage, maybe? Like most of the shops he’d passed on the way here, Sage & Seer had its window display done up for Christmas, only not like Zig would’ve expected.
The streetlamps threw enough light for him to make out white tinsel and stars hanging around a tableau of figurines.
There were owls, deer with big antlers, and in the centre, a woman with one tit out.
Zig wasn’t sure what all that had to do with Christmas—except maybe the deer—but were witches allowed to celebrate Christmas anyway?
Maybe they called it something else, like Midwinter, or Yule.
Zig hadn’t believed in the baby Jesus, or Santa for that matter, since Christmas holidays halfway through primary school.
His dad had taken him on his first break-in and then clouted him for setting off the alarm after squeezing through a window, like he was supposed to be some kind of expert on house-breaking at age eight.
At least he hadn’t left him behind, like Zig had been terrified of at the time. Course, that would have been a one-way ticket to jail for his dad and the care system for Zig.
Would he have been better off that way? Never know, now, would he?
He stood there a mo, finding more details in the dimly lit display the longer he looked.
There were flowers, and holly, and something with wings that wasn’t an owl.
And was that figure at the back a woman or a rabbit, or some weird mix of the two?
It was strange, though—while he couldn’t work out what it all was, it was clear that it meant something. But nothing Zig could understand. It was a world away from the shops back home, done up with fake snowmen and Santas made in China.
It was also fucking freezing out here, so why the hell wasn’t he knocking on Si’s door? Zig clenched his fists tight, then relaxed his hands and pulled them out of his pockets. Door on the left, Si’s dad had said. Right. He could do this. Ring the bell, you twat, he told himself, and did.
There was a long enough silence that Zig was about to go find the nearest pub and get plastered, but then the thump of footsteps down stairs held him frozen to the spot, his breath caught and his heart beating way too wildly and Jesus, get a fucking grip—
The door opened.
Zig had been prepared for some changes in Si’s appearance since they’d last seen each other. He wouldn’t be so fresh-faced, and he’d probably have filled out a bit. Even Zig had filled out a bit, although no one would have known it from the way Mrs. G had been talking earlier. But Si . . .
Fuck me, he’s gone all biker. With a side order of lumberjack.
Si had never been skinny like Zig, back in their teens, but now?
Now he was fucking built. Shoulders that could hold up a bloody marquee, and thick muscle everywhere, with a hint of softness on top.
He had a full, dark beard now, and was wearing a faded black hoodie with a print of a skeletal hand making the horns gesture.
He was a great big metalhead bear of a man, and Zig had never been so conscious of the year or so between them. Had never felt young next to Si before.
Behind that beard, though, Si’s face had paled. “Zig?”
Zig pasted on the cocky smile he should have been wearing from the start. “All right, mate? I’ve come for a visit. Catch up with me teenage sweetheart. How you been?”
Si’s eyes widened. Then he stepped forward.
Zig froze—and relaxed again as, instead of decking him, Si enveloped him in a huge bear hug.
Jesus, that felt good. Si’s hoodie was the softest thing he’d felt in a long time, and his chest was warm and inviting.
Zig could’ve stayed in that embrace for the rest of his life, except the hot air from inside the flat was making his eyes prickle.
He stepped back, making sure his smile was firmly in place.
“Reckon you can find room on your sofa for me?”
“Course I can.” Si’s voice was deeper than Zig remembered too. Growlier. It did stuff to Zig’s insides. “Come on in.”